A Gathering of Roses
by TheStrangeBelief
Summary: AU, where the Alice Game is a local Battle of the Bands, and the sisters are unrelated, and in bands that compete. An unsuspecting Jun is dragged into this whole thing, along with a mystery from a murky past. Shinku/Jun, Sou/Sui, Suigintou/Megu.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I'm really very sorry about having to take so long to churn this stupid little thing out—thank you for encouraging me, cherryblossomroses, ye mecca of patience and cheer. So, if you want to blame this on something—blame it on my laziness, and pistachios. Yes, pistachios. My mom went on an epic hunt for organic, unsalted pistachios, and either relentlessly dragged me along with her, or made me stay at home, and kept calling to check to see if I was fine—ie: not using the computer—so, yeah. Well. Welcome to the prologue. Bara-bara-chan is your fine narrator today, please pay the delightful thing due attention.

Note-I have made Suigintou and Souseiseki male, in order to make some of the things work. Shippings will be Suigintou/Megu, Souseiseki/Suiseiseki (with Sui and Sou very distant cousins), Shinku/Jun, Tomoe/Jun (though, not a lot), and former one-sided Suigintou/Shinku. If you're confused, I'll explain in next chapter.

**PROLOGUE**

We all pay attention to what's happening right _now_. We know everything about the _latest_ movies to hit the theatres, the _newest_ celebrities to step onto the shiny, golden plate of fame, the _hottest_ fashion trends, straight off of the runaway—basically, we scrutinize, analyze, and study everything in the _now. _And occasionally, we pay attention to the future. You know, on those lazy weekend nights, where you just flop on the couch and surf the channels, when you pause for a second at the show that's called something like, _How Global Warming Will Affect Your Future, _or, _What Will the USA Do After Iraq_, and you listen to the harried-looking, blonde lady rattle on about how harmful landfills can be, or other things like that, before you get bored, and turn to something more amusing.

But do any of us pay attention to what happened before—yes, those crummy history classes, the boring-as-mud lessons about World War II, and the complex-looking diagrams of soldiers advancing toward a lake, a river, a hill, or _something._ It's obvious—we don't listen to our teachers talk on about battles that were fought before we were even born, wars that were lost centuries ago, and diseases that belong far before you on the timeline. And no, I'm not advocating history lessons. I'm telling you to listen, to pay attention sometimes, to the _befores_.

And just as fate could have it, I'm here to tell you what happened _before_. Before this story I'm about to tell, in, oh, a few pages, about a boy, an intrepid local rock band, a girl scorned, and one wicked bass guitar. It won't be the sort of long-winded, tiring before that spans chapters and history books. Rather, it's a selection of three scenes, from exactly one year ago, and the only thing that all three have in common is that they both happen on the third, and all cause one heck of a story.

So, lie back, pop open a nice drink, and just _listen_. Because you _know_ you want to, and because it's just _that_ interesting.

**5:30 AM, March 3**

It was like a math problem,_ only it didn't make any sense at all._ One plus one didn't equal one, but yet it did, because there was one person on the bridge, soon followed by another, so briefly, there were two. And then, after the scream and the splash, there was only one.

The other one was flailing in the water, her pretty pink curls making a floating corona around her head. The first one was still sitting on the bridge, and after fumbling with his cell phone with frozen fingers, he managed to cough out something coherent, as the police bombarded him with frantic questions about his location and what happened.

When the police and ambulance arrived five minutes later, they found the boy rocking back and forth on the bridge, and the girl, limp and unconscious, in the bay. She would be alright, the paramedics said, as long as they got her to a hospital and gave her proper care.

Three days later, an article in the newspaper appeared, with the headline, 'LOCAL GIRL ATTEMPTED SUICIDE.'

_Suzuki Kirakishou, aged 15, attempted suicide three days ago, by jumping off of the Fujiwara Bridge, at roughly 5:31 AM in the morning. She was accompanied by Tanaka Souseiseki, a 16 year-old male student at her school, and according to Tanaka-san, was in great distress over her recent breakup with her boyfriend. When she jumped, her companion was alarmed, and immediately dialed 119 for an ambulance. When the ambulance, arrived five minutes later, the girl was still alive, but was unconscious, and when later awake, seemed to be delirious. "That girl kept shrieking for someone, and nothing we did…could make her be quiet. Seemed like she was crazy," said Kobayashi Chiharu, a nurse at the International Medical Center of Japan, who came in contact with Suzuki-san. Suzuki-san stayed at the hospital, recuperating, for two days, before her worried parents, Suzuki Atsushi and Chie, picked her up from the hospital. She will be sent to an institution near Osaka, in the fall. _

"Oh, how horrid," all the girls whispered, as they crowded around the smudgy pages of a newspaper, as their boyfriends would pat their backs, and hope fervently that it wouldn't be the name of their girlfriends on the newspaper anytime soon.

"Poor, poor thing. She must have been so angry, actually trying to take her life. It must be terrible for Suzuki-san." The matronly, plump housewives all around the neighborhood said, clucking their tongues, and whispering in gossipy voices saturated with mock sympathy.

And Souseiseki thought,_ Kirakishou hated having anyone feel sorry for her. She would have rather cut her throat from ear to ear than have to endure all the sympathy and pitying looks. _

**3:45 PM, April 3**

The dining room was decorated with helium balloons straining at their positions on the floor and multicolored, wispy streamers that waved listlessly. A clunky, fattening chocolate cake sitting on top of the table dominated the scene, sixteen pink candles poking out of the sea of frosting. On top of the chocolate monstrosity was written 'Happy 16, Jun!' in squiggly, red candies.

"Well…er, that's nice, Nori. Thanks." A teenage boy, with his black hair sticking up all over the place, stood uncertainly in the doorway, sticking his hands into the pocket of his jacket. His older sister, addressed as Nori, didn't seem to notice her younger brother's lack of euthusiasm, and tugged him in by his wrist, talking joyfully as she went.

"Look, here're your presents—the blue one's sent over from England by mom and dad. That red one's from Tomoe; she brought it over to our place a week ago. There's something that looks like a CD or a book from Isamu. And the yellow one is from me." She gestured toward what Jun thought must have been the most pitiful-looking pile of presents he'd ever seen.

Still, he mustered up some excitement and pasting a smile on his face, started through the motions of what Nori deemed was a proper birthday party. _Sing 'Happy Birthday', blow out candles, cut the cake, and then present opening…_

What was the point anyway? His parents hadn't been around to celebrate his birthday in eleven years—the last time they'd attended his birthday, he'd turned five. And right after that, they'd each swallowed a mouthful of cake, kissed their children on the cheek, handed a list to the live-in nanny, and run off to the airport for their next flight to Dubrovnik or Madrid or Venice. Yet, Nori still sang 'Happy Birthday' with her usual exuberance, as if trying to fill in the gap where two other voices should have been, and there were still four slices of cake laid out on the table, even though only two would be eaten.

_She was trying too hard,_ he thought, as he meticulously opened his gifts, cutting the sides carefully with a razor, and folding the gift wrapping paper after he was done. His first present was a collection of CDs from Isamu—the usual alt-rock stuff—he'd check it out later. The second one was a black notebook and a matching pen, from Tomoe. A safe, guy-friend gift—too bad he'd never use it. He really wasn't ever one for recording things. The one from Nori was a music player, as thin as a wafer and metallic green; one of the newest models of some big electronics company. It was alright gift, coming from Nori, anyway. She'd used to give him socks and puzzles, until he turned fourteen, and told her, rather rudely, to get him something for his next birthday that actually befitted his age.

The last one was from his parents, and he took his time with it. They never really got him anything useful, really. It was either some sort of useless charm that cost gobs of money, or some big old heavy book with thick, cream-colored pages that gave you a hell of a paper cut.

This time, it was a heavy, rectangular, navy-colored case. For a few moments, he squatted down, and stared at the mysterious thing, trying to figure out what it was and what it contained. An instrument, perhaps? With the size, it could be a guitar, or a violin…He hoped it was a guitar, because to him, violins sounded like the screeching of a deranged cat with rabies, and once he'd been required to take it at school. It had been horrible—the teacher kept slapping his hands, the stupid violin loaned to him from the school had strings that never were quite tuned right, and he couldn't read any of the notes. Finally, the teacher had told him just to get out, for his own good, and he'd returned home in absolute relief.

Well, if it was a violin, then he'd sell it on eBay and use _that_ money to buy something else.

With trepidation, he undid the clasps of the case, and lifted up the top. _Damn.___Damn. It wasn't just a guitar—it was an electric Gibson bass, with a shining mahogany body, tightly tuned strings, and an ebony finish. It was beautiful, and it was _all his._ Giddy from sudden joy, he took out the rest of the contents of the case—a beginners' guide to playing the bass guitar, a handful of picks in neon colors, an carrying strap, and a note from his parents, which read—_Given to us by friend. Hope you have a wonderful time. Love you, Mom and Dad._

A wonderful time, indeed.

"Thanks, Nori," he called, from over his head, as he headed back to his room to try out his new bass guitar.

**8:56 PM, May 3**

Souseiseki's garage was dank, and lit only by four cheap yellow flashlights standing sentry at each corner of the room, and a dinky little light bulb hanging from the ceiling that didn't work half the time. There were exactly five human bodies there—Hinaichigo, Souseiseki, Suiseiseki, Shinku, and Suigintou—but it felt like there were six anyway. _She _was still there, somehow, in the room, engulfing the air with her choking presence, and casting an obvious gloom over all six people in the garage. The flashlights that she had so cheerfully bought for everyone still stood like miniscule lighthouses at each corner of the room, that purple cap that she'd left at the garage and kept forgetting to take back, the empty chair that she had sat in (_until, _they all thought, _until _it_ had happened_) turned into depressing reminders of _her_ and what had happened.

Hinaichigo was the most disaffected—after all, she hadn't really known Kirakishou that long, and because in her one-track mind, Kirakishou been regulated to status of snack-buyer, Suigintou's girlfriend, and nothing more. Why should she feel bad if the snack-buyer suddenly decided to throw herself off of a bridge, and not only that, utterly _fail _at suicide? It wasn't her fault, and it didn't have anything to do with her, anyway.

Selfish one, she is.

Suiseiseki was mad at Kirakishou—even if she wasn't here for her to properly throw a raging Sui-tantrum at—because ever since she'd attempted to kill herself, Sou-san had been all quiet, and he wouldn't ever laugh with her anymore. He'd just smile a queer little smile, and brush her off, looking wistful, as if he was imagining better times. He was her cousin and her _best_ _friend_, goddammit! All because one of Suigintou's stupid temporary girlfriends decided to try and off herself, Sou wouldn't talk properly with her anymore. He wasn't her Souseiseki anymore—the old one smiled, laughed, and was occasionally cynical, but he loved her.  
Or at least he showed it. It wasn't _fair. All because of that dumbass pink-haired girl._

Didn't anyone tell you life isn't fair, darling? Maybe we should move on to some more _sympathetic _beings. Anyway.

By comparison, Souseiseki looked positively selfless—he was wishing that he hadn't introduced Kira-san to Suigintou, when he _knew _the guy left a trail of broken hearts behind him like discarded tissue, wished he hadn't replied in affirmative, when she had, eyes sparkling, asked him jokingly if there were any hot guys in his band, and if there were, he should introduce them to her. But it was too late for wishes—she'd fallen in love with him, like most warm-blooded, straight teenage girls he knew, he'd predictably become fascinated with her for a while, and even more predictably, when the short-lived fascination had worn off, he had dumped her, bluntly and rather cruelly. However, both of them hadn't accounted for the fact that Kirakishou was a) an aspiring actor, and b) a drama queen. And almost any good drama queen/amateur actor worth her salt would try and do something so very dramatic and elaborate after a break-up, especially in the vein of _I'll-make-him-sorry, _or _that'll-show-him_ drama. Except she took it one step farther, and actually progressed into self-offing, instead of just the general doctored photos of the ex and every girl at school. Now she was gone, carted off to some mental hospital—the bright, smiling girl had departed from his life, turned into just another patient, dressed in a gown and lying on a hospital bed.

Shinku had _kind of _liked Kirakishou—after all, she'd always smiled at everyone and even tried to make conversation with her—and when she _had _been around, she hadn't seemed like a huge, imposing area of their lives, but now that she was gone—well, not dead, but she might as have been, anyway—it seemed like someone had gotten a jagged, uneven knife, and carved out a well-sized chunk out of their normal routines. Not an especially huge one, mind you, but something that _would_ be missed later, something that would make you try and remember what it _was_, that niggling memory that hung off of the edge of your mind. Kirakishou, once a seemingly small implement _before,_ had left, and with her, she had taken shards of their old days with them, leaving a strangely tender wound behind.

Suigintou looked and felt the worse. Even his hair was affected—it drooped around his head in untidy, grimy silver strands, and he was dressed in grungy-looking pants, and a graying shirt that had probably never seen the light of day before. But it all dulled in complete contrast, if you could take a look at his thoughts. The only thing that was important right now, the only thing that mattered was that _it was his fault. It was _his _fault. _He_ had almost caused the death of someone—_a living _human_ _being_. A person, a girl he'd known, and even _loved_, albeit for a short period of time. His fault all his fault—he was _almost_ a killer, _almost_ a murderer, _almost_ had dirty blood on his hands.

"So what do we do now?" A voice, quiet and rather devoid of any emotion, echoed throughout the garage. It was Shinku, and she had just voiced the statement everyone was wondering—what do we do now, after _this. This _disaster. _This_ catastrophe.

No one replied, because no one knew.

_What _do _we do now?_


	2. Young and Loaded, Or Not

**A/N: Sorry I took so long, but there was schoolwork, a ban from the computer, and my own internal drive for perfection...so, here I present the official first chapter...it's part one, and part two will be following up shortly. (Hopefully.) ALICE, R & R**

_all I want is a little of the good life_

_all I need is to have a good time_

_the good life_

Driving was like a fun, albeit risky, game to Suiseiseki, who regarded herself as a speed demon of the highest regard—see how fast you can go, before _they _catch you.

Not that her car—erm, van—could go very fast; sixty kilometers tops, without blowing up the engine. But the girl tried anyway, slamming her foot down on the accelerator with as much force as her tiny little size-7 foot could. This rather literal enactment of the phrase, 'put the pedal to the metal,' resulted in the van barreling down the highway at a carsickness-inducing speed, making an ominous rattling noise and causing loud shouts of complaint from the back of the van.

Squashed into the backseat next to Hinaichigo's knee, Shinku yanked at her seatbelt, trying to wriggle as far away as she could (not a lot) from Souseiseki, who was currently regurgitating the contents of his stomach into an empty shopping bag.

"Urgh—Hina doesn't like it. Drive slower, Suiseiseki-chan. Souseiseki-kun's puking all over the place right now." Hinaichigo, lead singer and fifteen year-old girl, said, as her knee vibrated uncomfortably close to Shinku's face.

"Oh, be quiet," the unfortunate driver snapped, "I'll drive however the hell I want. Besides, Souseiseki's the one puking his guts out, not you, and I don't hear _him_ complaining. So suck it up, Hina."

Due to her distraction, the van swerved at a dangerous 90-degree-angle, and nearly crashed into the railing on the side of the highway. However, a panicked Suiseiseki, emitting muffled curses and making use of some pretty wicked-well, in Souseiseki's opinion, anyway, if he can even see anything besides the rim of his makeshift barf bag—coordination, managed to maneuver the car so that it merely bounced off of the railing, leaving an ugly graze, and moved back toward the lane with nary more than just another scratch.

After all, what's another battle scar? I hear they go down well with the ladies, boys.

For the rest of the drive, the backseat stayed pretty much quiet and unscathed, the silence occasionally punctuated by either a whining complaint from Hinaichigo, or a suspiciously rude-sounding mutter from Suigintou, who had the longest legs and best reflexes, therefore allowing him to claim the front (and best, if the protests are anything to go by) seat.

As the van trundled down the freeway ramp at a mere, rule-abiding speed of 93 km, Souseiseki, his head pressed against the cool glass of the window, moodily contemplated his makeshift barf bag. He _hated_ cars and any manner of getting from place to place that involved setting foot into one. This insistent hatred of anything with four wheels was probably nurtured by the other bane of his life—carsickness. Whenever Souseiseki sat in a moving car, the rather strange hacking sound, the one that announced the arrival of his lunch/breakfast/dinner in his mouth, was soon to follow, no matter what. It was like a curse.

The van pulled up at the pavement with a deafening screeching noise, quickly succeeded by the metallic rasp of the car door being flung open. All four equally relieved members of the backseat made a rush for the open doorway, not hesitating at all to use elbows, fists, or chunky, multiple-inch heels (in Hinaichigo's case) in order to push their way out first.

Patience _is_ considered a virtue, darlings.  
With her rather unfair advantage of Vivienne Westwood Rocking Horse shoes, (which, for your information, dear readers, hurt like the shit when someone wearing those particular shoes kicked you) Hinaichigo was the first to step onto the pavement, clutching her large tackle box of makeup underneath her arm, giving her bested competition rather complacent looks. By the time Kei, the third bassist the band had had so far, had stumbled down out of the vehicle, eyes red-rimmed from an earlier hit at Souseiseki's garage, and clutching his cornrows, Suiseiseki had already strode out of the van, closing the door on her side with a satisfying slam, and started to make for the nightclub, at a brisk pace.

Suigintou, habitual smoker, had a hard time keeping up with Suiseiseki and the rapidly receding click-click of her stiletto heels, and every single time he stopped to hack up a lung, he swore up and down to God that, really, really, this time he'd try quitting for sure. Really.  
But we all know he's not going to, because he's just too lazy (_I'll do it later, and later, and later)_ and really, deep down, he doesn't care if he dies of lung cancer the next day, or when he's in bed with some girl, as long as he gets his daily kick of nicotine each day. It doesn't matter what shoddy assemblies the school slaps together to show their impatient students the results of smoking, or how many impromptu lectures Shinku gives on the evils of smoking—it just doesn't really _matter_ to him.

The interior of the club was dimly lit with flickering, florescent lights that were installed above the dance floor and the glittering bar leading up to it. Beyond the bar was a hallway, covered in old-timey, rose-patterned wallpaper, with rosewood doors situated at random, complete with golden doorknobs and equally shiny placques with engraved room numbers.

Kei and Suiseiseki immediately hopped onto the swiveling bar stools and installed themselves at the bar, taking advantage of Hinaichigo's MasterCard and the amiable-looking bartender, obviously eager for companionship.

"A gin and tonic for me, please, and a martini on the rocks for the one over there," Suiseiseki said, her ruby-red lips curling up into a smile that didn't suggest anything, no, not until you _really_ thought of it.

"Suiseiseki…please. We're set to perform in thirty minutes—you can have all the fucking gin and tonics you want _afterward," _Shinku snapped, her delicate face drawn tight, as the vein on her temple twitched irregularly.

"_Shinkuuuu_," she said, drawing out the 'u', "It's just one drink. After the drink, I'll go and set up, I promise."

"Alright," Shinku sighed, "One drink, and if you're not ready to set up by then, I'll drag you out by your hair. Kei, too."

"Not that he has much hair, nano," Hinaichigo piped in, as she followed Shinku toward the empty dance floor.

"Oh, shut up, you brat, " Suiseiseki muttered, half-heartedly, as she threw back her gin and tonic, arching her long neck.

_Swanlike_, Suigintou thought. Suiseiseki was a swan, with her alabaster-colored skin, a flawless face, languid, rolling black eyes, and creamy thighs that seemed to go on for miles from underneath her teeny-tiny plaid skirt, overlaid with a large, chunky black belt almost as wide as the skirt itself. One pale, perfectly sculpted arm reached for the rest of her drink, as the other gripped the glass counter.

She was beautiful, of course, but in an inelegant, suggestive way. To Suigintou, Sui-chan brought to mind one of the original femme fatales, dressed in a slinky wrap dresses and a cigarette tucked between smirking red lips, in the American film noirs of the 40's.

All the girls in their band were beautiful, but each beauty was very different. Shinku, who was almost, but not quite, as pale as the likes of Suiseiseki, with long, glossy blonde hair done up in a distinguished chignon, and her long, ruby red, Victorian-style dress, overlaid with black lace , possessed a kind of incorruptible, queenly beauty—the kind you wouldn't ever dream of throwing up against the wall and having your way with. It was the kind of timeless beauty that you saw engraved in a thousand dollar ivory cameos, captured with the deft strokes of a brush in the old paintings of golden, serenely smiling women, or with an adept chisel, from within a block of marble.

Hinaichigo wasn't so much as beautiful, as she was pretty. There was still a soft childishness in the structure of her face, and when she smiled, there was nothing sensual or haughty about it—it was just the happy joy you see from a child.

Even Souseiseki was kind of beautiful, in his stupid-ass androgynous way. _Oh, God, did he just really think that? God, that's just horrid. _Suigintou shook his head in disgust. The weed fumes from Kei must have really gotten to him during the car ride. _Blurgh. _He'd throw up in his throat if he could, but the idea of keeping his vomit somewhere between his mouth and stomach for the whole evening was rather repulsive. _Almost as repulsive as _that_ thought_.

"Suigintou! Gin-kun, you lazy bastard! Hurry up and help us set up!" A cry from Shinku, most likely, sounded from somewhere in the lounge, interrupting his on-the-very-edge-of-disturbing thoughts. _Saved by the Shinku,_ he thought wryly.

_And I don't even like Shinku all that much._

Shinku didn't like the announcer's voice—it was raspy and slurred, like the guy had been smoking a pack and tossing back a beer at the same time. Also, it sounded too much like Suigintou for her taste. There _was_ a reason why Souseiseki was backup singer, and not Suigintou.

But apparently the guy was popular with the crowd, because as soon as he came up onto stage, he was greeted with whoops, cheers, and screams.

"Ladies and gents," the announcer drawled, "I present to you, The Cross of Roses!"

The flickering, neon-colored spotlights were turned toward them, as Suiseiseki held her drumsticks above the drum set, as Suigintou and Kei's hands twitched eagerly above their guitars, as Shinku positioned her hands over the cold keys of the Yamaha keyboard, and as Hinaichigo gripped the mike with nervous hands, her knuckles white from the tension.

_We're ready._

Shinku started out first, with the light notes of the beginning of 'The Artist'. They'd chosen a quiet song for their opening. Next was Suiseiseki, who kept up a soft, slow beat, and Suigintou, who strummed the opening chords. And Hinaichigo, who opened her mouth, and began to sing in her lovely voice.

"_I know you're an artist, you're the hardest to deal with, everything that you conceal…_" Her voice wavered at first, but it gradually gained strength, the notes pouring from her mouth and soaring above the crowd, quieting everyone, as they stood in awe, listening to her forever young voice.

"_Love, will you turn off the lights? Cause we're already home, oh…"_

She was magnificent—a skinny, blonde, fifteen year-old Lolita, clutching at the mike as she poured her heart out to the crowd. After she was done, there was an edgy, eager silence that filled the air, before the dance floor burst into cheers.

_It was wonderful being back on stage_, Shinku thought, as her fingers danced their way across the keyboard, for the opening of 'Paperthin Hymn', their second song.

"_Who's gonna call on a Sunday morning, who's gonna drive you home, I just want one more chance…"_

Shinku drank in the rising enthusiasm and cheers from the crowd, the almost-but-not-quite blinding glare of the spotlights, the young, soaring energy of HInaichigo's voice, and the quick melody of her own piano keys.

_Everything was good…_


	3. Fractured: An Interlude

INTERLUDE-Fractured

A/N: I'm very sorry for not posting earlier-originally, I planned to upload and post Part 2, which is a longer chapter. However I couldn't finish it in time, and I feel bad seeing my story just languishing there, with only two chapters. So here's an interlude, in the form of our favorite (?) pink-haired girl/doll. The first two lines of lyrics are from 'Grow Up and Blow Away' by Metric, and the last line of lyrics is from 'Iris' by the Goo Goo Dolls. R & R. BTW, Part 2 will be posted soon, hopefully..

_If this is the life, why does it feel so good to die today? Blue to gray, grow up and blow away…_

Her quavery, yet somehow defiant voice cuts through the sterile, Lysol-scented air of her hospital room. Kirakishou hates hospitals—they smell so cold and clean, and no matter how many posters of smiling children and happy babies they tacked up, there was still a deathly, ominous air about the place. And even if they call it an institution (no, it's not a hospital, Suzuki-san, it's an institution)—emphasizing the word like it makes a difference at all.

(It doesn't.)

At least she's going home today—back to the warm, smiling lights of Tokyo, the loud bustle of living people around her, and her tiny (she says it's cozy) bedroom in their Shinjuku apartment.

(Back to Suigintou, is the unspoken, unvoiced thought.)

She's a city girl, you see, and being in the country feels like someone just peeled off her skin, and left her naked and bare and cold and lonely in the middle of nowhere.

Sometimes she thought she'd go insane, stuck in a sterile, white hospital room, dressed always in that stupid, hospital-issued white gown, eating the same bland food over and over, and being submitted to questioning all the time, by that overly-perky, always-smiling nurse.

_How do you feel today, Kirakishou-chan—is it alright if I call you that?_

_Okay. I feel fine._

_You feel fine? How?_

_I just…feel fine…_

_How? You have to tell us, in order for us to help you, Kirakishou-chan. That's what me and the other doctors are here for—to listen to you, and help you get better! Don't you want to get better, Kirakishou-chan?_

And then, quietly murmured, _I don't care._

She sings some more.

_First double cross her heart…he wants to start a family—needing something to go on…_

One of the nurses (it was either Hiromi-san, Kiku-san, or Mieko-san) walks by, telling her, you have a lovely voice, Kirakishou-chan, smiling tenatively, like she's afraid she's going to bite her.

(What a silly idea.)

Everyone describes madness as a scattering of the wits, the unraveling of the string that binds sanity so very tightly…a disease that loosens your mind and allows you to wander. They're all wrong. Her madness (she likes the idea of owning something, even something as small as a madness) is like being trapped in a tiny, dark closet, as your words and actions and tears and sins come back, to peck out your eyes and eat the sweet flesh of your body.

He comes back, in her dreams, to tell her that he doesn't care, doesn't want her, doesn't love her, doesn't need her at all. And as she sleeps unfitfully, tossing her head and wrenching her neck, she imagines his arms around another girl, feeding his honeyed words into her ear (oh, I'll love you forever and ever) and pressing his bittersweet lips to hers. She'll wake up screaming later, the image of him (so very beautiful—so beautiful—if only she could reach him) entwined another lucky girl (like a moth fluttering to the warmth and radiance of the sun) burned into her retinas.

(Even if it's just a dream, it hurts. Really.)

_When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am…_

She walks out to the car, holding her one battered suitcase, and staring down at the pebbly driveway. The feeling of being free is strange, and not all entirely horrible.

(It feels like being strapped on a hang glider for all of your life, and suddenly being unstrapped and thrown into the buffeting winds.)

Her mother, with her careworn face and huge eyes, stands next to the car, looking unsure, as her father, seated at the driver's side, gives her an uncertain look. When she sees them, the ever-constant longing (I miss you) wells up into her, and she has the strangest, childish instinct to throw herself at their arms, bawling. But the fury (so very sly and clever, making her presence known as her blood freezes to ice in her veins) rises up within her, also, and suddenly, it feels like something's trying to get out of her body, pushing and pulling at her stomach and throat (goosebumps rising on her pale skin) and she just feels so angry.

The spell is broken (like all are) when her mother smiles unsurely, and says, "Kira-chan? We missed you." Everything (her hate love anger longing) retreats back into her mind, and she feels the cold nothing settle back over her body, misting over her eyes (so you won't see anything) and pasting an automatic, sickly smile onto her face.

(Nothing nothing nothing—you are nothing you feel nothing)

A perfunctory, cautious hug, and then the backseat.

The car engine purrs to life, and her mother turns around to look at her.

"You've lost weight, Kira-chan, and you look… (she seems to be struggling for words)…different."  
(Is that a good thing? Or a bad thing?)

And then, she thinks of something to say, "Yes, I have, yes, I do."


End file.
